Hi People. I would really appreciate feedback on this one…It kind of hit me in the period where I should have been doing Physics homework and/or studying for a Calculus test, and wouldn't let go. It seems to want to be a chapter piece, and I'm not great at those, so constructive feedback would be nice. Grazie.
Disclaimer: I own a copy of all the books, but not the franchise and/or copyright.
Harry Potter spared a weary eye to skim over the report lying on his desk. He suspected it was waiting for him to go to sleep so it could eat him—but that was probably just one more delusion supplied by his sleep-deprived brain.
Most people would say that Harry had a great life. Having taken care of that pesky Voldemort problem at the tender age of eighteen, he had proceeded to declare that he was sick of fighting people and had taken up an apprenticeship with Hogwart's resident nurse, Madame Pomfrey. The two of them had quickly discovered that Harry had a talent with the healing arts, and the rest, as they say, is history.
He was now a thirty-five year old senior healer at St. Mark's Private Institute of Healing Arts. Although at first he had mocked the wizarding world in general for having such a generic hospital naming system, Harry had found his proverbial niche at St. Mark's. He had spent the past fifteen years working his way up the seniority ladder from a newbie nurse, and was now occupying one of the top spots in the hospital.
Unfortunately, his high position came with a good deal of paperwork. Harry was currently avoiding a monster stack of papers that were the result of, ironically enough, the annual celebrations of the downfall of Voldemort. Just as with any other major holiday, the anniversary of Voldemort's demise was an accident magnet, and as such made for a very busy day for hospitals all over Britain.
The other monster stack of paper that he was avoiding, mostly by way of not going home, was a pile of fan mail that Harry was sure had accumulated to mountain size in his living room. Voldemort's deathday was the only day Harry allowed mail from the general populace to come through his wards. Fortunately for Harry and his desire to avoid all types of paperwork, he was a bachelor(and had been since finishing Hogwarts, incidentally) and as such could afford to simply not go home for a night.
This particular night, he decided that he would save the paperwork on his desk for in the morning and would go spend the night at Ron and Hermione's house. They never really minded when he stayed over, and he knew they would be letting their kids stay up late on this special holiday night. This meant he would be drafted as an instant babysitter(he could hear the kids now—"Yay! Uncle Harry! Let's play Aurors and Deatheaters! You be the Deatheater, Uncle Harry!") but he was okay with that. He mostly enjoyed spending time with his honorary nieces and nephews. And he never knew—playing babysitter for a night might just land him with another little niece or nephew.
With these thoughts in mind, Harry traded his outer robe for a muggle-style overcoat,(muggle was so much more comfortable!) stuck his key in the lock of his office door, and stepped out intending to close the door behind him.
He never got as far as closing the door, however, because the moment he stepped foot outside his office he stepped right into an inconveniently placed dimensional vortex. Harry's thoughts while flying through this vortex were not very charitable towards its creators, the technology and research department of St. Mark's hospital. Honestly, if Harry had told them once he had told them a million times to keep their stupid experiments in space and time out of the areas that the general public was likely to tread. "Keep them in the labs where they belong," he had sternly told the head techie, "and you'll have much fewer accidents. You take my word for it."
Apparently the head techie hadn't taken his word for it. Harry knew this because he was currently falling through a moody dimensional vortex on his way to who knows where.
Harry abruptly found himself falling through actual air instead of space, and a second later found himself landing on top of an uncomfortably bony body. After a few typical exclamations of "ow!' and "geroff!" and "arghh my LEG!" Harry managed to separate himself from whoever he had belly flopped on to.
He turned around to apologize—only to find himself on the end of an awkwardly positioned and blatantly flustered Severus Snape's wand. Harry suspected the awkward half-collapsed way Snape was sitting was mostly due to his leg, which appeared to be broken. Harry further hypothesized that he was most certainly in an alternate dimension (as opposed to down the street from the hospital) because Severus Snape had quite definitely died more than 15 years ago.
"Oh," Harry said cheerfully, "terribly sorry about that. Here, let me just—" At this point Snape made a distressed noise and tried to jerk away from the crazy man as Harry waved his wand around in a vague sort of pattern, resulting in Snape's leg straightening itself out and the bone mending. Snape gaped as Harry finished with "fix it. Isn't that better?"
"Who are you?" sputtered Snape, scrambling to his feet and re-aiming his wand at Harry's heart. "No—don't move—just stay right there and identify yourself." he snapped as Harry took a slight step forward.
"Easy, easy. I am Healer Brady Devon. I am sorry for landing on you—it was an accident, I assure you." Harry smiled in a friendly manner and raised his wand in the air in surrender. "I come in peace!"
Unfortunately for Harry, the muggle reference went straight over Snape's head. Harry briefly pondered the possibility of this Snape having not grown up in a half-muggle home, but that line of thought was rudely interrupted when Snape asked another angry question. "Who do you work for?"
"The Order of the Phoenix, of course. Didja forget me, Snape?"
While he had thought it witty at the time, Harry would regret being a cheeky brat about 30 seconds after Snape's stupefy hit him.
Harry woke up to quiet but angry voices, and immediately felt disgust at the cliché that was his life.
"I'm telling you, Headmaster, he fell out of thin air, broke my leg, called me by name, and mentioned the Order! He's dangerous!"
"Now, Severus. You also told me that he healed your leg right after breaking it. And didn't Madame Pomfrey say that it was a magnificent piece of spellwork that did it? Top-quality healing, I believe were her words."
At this point, Harry decided it would be a good idea to make some sort of awakening noise.
Snape wailed in alarm and burst into the curtained-off area that contained Harry's bed. "What in Merlin's name is wrong with you?!?" Dumbledore entered the area at a more sedate pace and twinkled suspiciously at Harry. "Now, Mr…"
"Healer." Harry offered cheerfully.
"My apologies, Healer…"
"Brittanicus." Harry supplied him.
"Right, Healer Brittanicus. I must apologize for Severus's stunning you—he felt threatened by you, apparently. You are currently in the Infirmary of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Perhaps you've heard of it?"
"Wait," interrupted Snape, "his name wasn't Brittanicus earlier."
"Of course it was." snapped Harry. "It's been Kerry Brittanicus since I was born, and I'd like to know how you would know if it hadn't been."
"You told me it was Brady Devon not an hour ago!"
Harry frowned at Snape as though he was a small child. "Nooooo. I told you it was Kerry Brittanicus. I thought I was rather clear about it, too."
Snape's face twitched in an unhealthy manner. "You told me your name was Brady Devon. I heard you say the words 'Brady Devon'. So help me, WHAT IS YOUR NAME?"
"Seren Quintum." Harry said calmly.
"Wait. What?" Snape sputtered snappily.
"Seren Quintum. That's my name, always has been. I told you this not a minute ago. Do you have this much trouble remembering things all the time?"
Dumbledore had caught on by this point and was making a valiant effort at not laughing aloud.
"Actually, you might have a real problem. Do you spend twenty minutes looking for your wand every morning, only to realize you had tucked it behind your ear? Do you misplace your eggs at breakfast? Forget important dates? Not recognize your own dear children?"
"You see, there is a serious muggle disease, not common to magical folk, but it pops up from time to time. It's called Alzheimer's Disease, and it basically means that your brain is eating you. And your memories. Now, I am a healer, and I can fix you. Tell me, exactly how old are you?"
"Dear Merlin, he's already forgotten his own age. Quick—you, old man with the long beard—get this man a hospital gown and some ibuprofen. This might take awhile."
Snape had now devolved to stuttering incomprehensible syllables in pure frustrated rage. Dumbledore kindly stepped in between Snape and the bed and smiled pleasantly at Harry.
"If you're quite done mentally harassing my Potions Master, perhaps you could tell me your real name? Necessary for matters of security, you see."
"Oh, of course. My real name is Harry Potter. Pleased to meet you, sir." Harry declared brightly, extending a hand to Dumbledore.
Dumbledore gave a long-suffering sigh. "Really now, that's enough fooling about. You potentially attacked one of my employees and apparently know sensitive information that you shouldn't. Real name please."
Harry, sensing the seriousness of the situation, decided to just let it out. "Fine, fine. I am Mikal Wright. I am 35 years old. I am a senior healer at a small private hospital in Great Britain. I was stepping out of my office this fine night and fell right into an inconveniently place dimensional vortex, and was spit out of it into the air above your lovely Mr. Snape's head. I'm sorry I broke his leg—I fixed it right after. I like pouring butterbeer over vanilla icecream. My middle name is Janet. I sometimes skip down the street when I think no one is looking. I'm craving peanut butter—"
"Thank you, Healer Wright, that's quite enough. Care to explain where you heard the term 'Order of the Phoenix'?"
"I was a member of it, back when Voldemort was still alive. That's how I knew Snape, of course, and how I know that you are Albus Dumbledore. Interestingly enough, where I hail from you both died over 15 years ago." Harry beamed up at Dumbledore and Snape, who looked thoughtful and incredulous, respectively.
"What do you mean, 'back when Voldemort was still alive'? You can't mean he's actually dead!" gasped Snape in obvious disbelief.
"Sure he is. The Potter kid kicked his bucket for him, so to speak. That was nearly 20 years ago now, though, so I'm not sure why it even matters. The Order of the Phoenix isn't exactly a secret anymore."
"Healer Wright…This may seem like a silly question, but what year is it currently?" Dumbledore had an extremely thoughtful look on his face, and was seemed to have suddenly found Harry's face overly fascinating.
"2016, of course. Why do you ask?"
Snape made a quiet choking sound in his throat. "Surely you can't believe that, Headmaster!"
"No, Severus, I sense he is telling the truth in this. Healer Wright, this may be a bit of shock for you, but the year here is 1995. Voldemort is indeed still alive and causing problems, and the Order of the Pheonix is functioning and very secret."
"Oh," said Harry weakly, "if that's all. I think I'll just sit here and wallow in the pathetic drama novel that masquerades as my life, thanks."